


Roses Are Red

by thosewhofall



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Death, Grief, M/M, Mourning, Multi, Other, Valentines Day Fic, depiction of how he dies might be triggering, jehan is dead, modern college au, super dark, tw: hate crime, tw: murder, vday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosewhofall/pseuds/thosewhofall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is fine. He swears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses Are Red

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Most people ship Jehan/Courf, but I have a friend (ehem) who prefers Jehan/Combeferre so voila this happened. It's dark. Like. Dark. Read at your own risk.

Combeferre was pretending that he was okay.  He was only about fifty percent sure that everyone believed him. And by that he meant that before he even got up, he’d received two texts from Enjolras, a text from Courfeyrac, a voicemail from Eponine and Joly and Bossuet had sent him an email. All of them, each and every one of them had offered their support and reminded him that he was loved. He wasn’t sure why they were acting the way that they were. Sure, he was alone, but he’d been alone more valentines days than he’d been with someone. It had only been the last few years that he’d even had a person to hold.

And now, yeah, that person wasn’t here anymore. But he was going to be okay. He’d promised Jehan, when he’d been laying against the wall, eyes pained, breathing labored, his hand pressed over the gunshot wound by the angry, narrow-minded, hateful person had put into him and then run. He’d promised his lover that he would be okay. That he would carry on, and as he’d kissed his cheek and waited for the ambulance that had come too late, he’d promised God that he’d do anything if he got to keep Jehan just one more day.

Unfortunately, he’d ended up keeping his promise to Jehan, instead of to God. But that didn’t matter. That had been a month and a half ago and Combeferre was okay he _swore._ His life couldn’t stop because Jehan was gone. He’d had a life before he’d met the soft-spoken, eccentric English literature-poetry major that had become his to hold and touch. And he’d have a life, continue to have a life, even now that he was gone.

He had class anyway. It was a Thursday, not a weekend, not a day that they had classes off for. So he’d gotten up and gotten dressed and headed off for Class, stopping for Coffee with Eponine who had insisted it in her voicemail and much of what Eponine said, Eponine got, it was something all of the boys had come to understand. The outspoken brunette cared about all of her boys, to the point of tears most days. Combeferre had pretended to smile through it, and he might have fooled Eponine but he doubted it, from the length of time that she spent hugging him.

Classes were hard. He filled the margins of his notebook with thoughts on life and death and Jehan and the other friends he’d amassed alongside his lover. At some point he’d realized that he wasn’t listening anymore and he’d wandered out of class as quietly as he could. He’d get the notes from someone later. Enjolras had the same Political Philosophy class, but at a different time.

2:00 found him in the garden that had at one point been Jehan’s favorite place on campus, where the two of them had come to sit and enjoy the sunshine. There was a tree that Combeferre would lean against with Jehan resting against his chest as the delightful other would write poetry. Combeferre would play with Jehan’s hair, it was a similar color but longer than Enjolras’ would ever be. Sometimes, flowers grew and he’d tuck them into the hair, smiling as the other read out when he’d written a particularly delightful verse.

“I thought I’d find you here.”  It was strange, almost, that it was the voice of the person he hadn’t heard from yet today that shook Combeferre out of his melancholy reverie.

“That’s surprising. I’d have thought for sure by now your memory would have been compromised.” Combeferre sat up a little straighter, wrapping his arms around his knees as he drew them to his chest, head cocked to the side at Grantaire, “What’s up?”

Grantaire’s tongue clicked, “Very funny, taking after Enjolras are we now?” He shook his head, “Everyone’s worried sick about you.”

“Enjolras’ goal in life is for everyone to take after him, don’t pretend.” Combeferre almost cracked a smile, “I’m fine. None of you have to worry about me.”

“Combeferre, it’s okay, you know, to show that you have feelings?” Grantaire sat on the ground next to him. “I mean, like, about today and everything.”

“This is rich, coming from the man who drank away his feelings for a year before he got with his boyfriend.” Combeferre turned his head to the side to look at Grantaire, “It’s a hell of a lot easier if everyone isn’t asking me how I am.” His voice grew thick, deepening with the sadness that was there. “I’m okay. But everyone asking me and reminding me that he’s gone and that I shouldn’t be okay? That makes things harder to bear.”

Grantaire slung an arm around Combeferre’s shoulders, “I wrote you something.” He slid his hand into his back pocket and withdrew a piece of soft cream paper that Combeferre recognized as the kind of moleskine paper that Jehan had preferred to write on. “It’s nothing like what he could have written, but maybe it’ll get you to  crack a smile.”

The words on the paper cracked something in Combeferre as he read them, his smile forming even as tears fell into his eyes.

_Roses are Red_

_Violets are Blue_

_Jehan would want us to remind you_

_That he was in love with you._

Combeferre looked up at Grantaire with tear-filled eyes and he nodded, “I never doubt that.” He whispered, “ I never doubt how much he loved me.” His hands shook as he folded the paper back up, “But I miss him so much R.” He rested his head on Grantaire’s shoulder as he let the emotions hit him.

Grantaire stroked his hair and rocked him gently, petting softly at his hair and humming quietly. “We all miss him.” He whispered. “Trust me.”


End file.
